


Mortal Hypocrisy

by Nalledia



Category: Hellboy (Movies)
Genre: Activists, F/M, Friendship, Gen, Injury, Mutual Admiration, animal trap, at least with the environmentalist side, environmentalist, i took way too many liberties with this, idk wtf this is, they're accidental friends, this is such an old fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-22
Updated: 2013-04-22
Packaged: 2019-03-09 16:06:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13485027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nalledia/pseuds/Nalledia
Summary: Camarin is a part of a protest group, and with her fellow environmentalists they try to convince loggers to leave the forest in peace. But then Nuada arrives, and the picture changes. On the run from this strange creature, & horribly lost in the forest she tried to protect, Camarin finds a kindred spirit in the last place - and the last person - she would have expected to find one.





	Mortal Hypocrisy

**Author's Note:**

> This is so old. Forgive it's... teenage-y-ness
> 
> Disclaimer:  
> I do not own Hellboy or any of the characters, comics, movies or dialog. The rest of the characters are mine.

The elf stood atop one of the many buildings, looking out over the sprawling human city with a mix of disgust, hate and anger. His long, white hair blew across his pale face in the breeze; the stench of fumes and mortal pollutions fueling his desire for vengeance. He would visit a forest one last time for its clean and pure beauty before he would begin. He would wage war against the humans; call upon all of his people and reclaim what was his –  _theirs_  – by birthright. He smiled darkly at the thought, glancing at the obscured stars in the heavens. Yes, he would take back what belonged to him, and he would call on his people – the good, the bad, and the worst. But first, he had more personal business to attend to.

 

* * * * * * *

 

It was the dawn of a hard day, a day of fear and anger and hate, and a need to protect what others wanted –  _needed_  – to destroy. Camarin was a part of an environmentalist group, and they were camped just inside the forest, which loggers were going to destroy. It wasn't a sustainable forest, and it certainly wasn't right that anyone could just come and take whatever they wanted without giving back. Her group was numbered at around sixty, which was one of the largest she knew of for this area. Then again, they had spread the word to other groups and most of the people who were here had come from across the country, and a few even came from overseas to aid this cause. Camarin's group usually numbered between ten and fourteen on the best days, less than eight on others. People didn't like risky operations like this one.

Some members were awake and practicing the protests, painting their faces, and laying stones in messages, gathering them as ammunition. She greeted her brothers and sisters in arms as she passed them, feeling the atmosphere grow. Camarin was excited, and nervous. This was the first time she was a part of something more important than sending out petitions for people to sign. She forced down a small breakfast, and found her close friend Silvijn painting another woman's face in greens, browns and oranges. The dark-blonde man smiled when he saw Camarin, his grey eyes twinkling when he sent the other woman off.

"Camarin," he greeted, gesturing at a stool as he washed his brushes.

"Silvijn," she greeted. "It's good to have you here," she replied as she sat down and lifted her face when Silvijn came closer with his paints. He grinned briefly, lightly touching her chin and positioning her face with his right hand, painting with his left.

"It felt like the right place to come to," he frowned, and Camarin couldn't tell if he was concentrating or if something bothered him. "I still feel it, but something's going to happen that's beyond us. I'm not sure what, but it can't be good…" Silvijn applied more paint and traced swirling designs and bold patterns on Camarin's face. She studied him carefully, trying to keep her features smooth as he painted. They had known each other for years, and he'd always had sixth sense with many things, and was usually right when he decided to share this information with others.

She swallowed. "What do you mean?"

He shook his head. "I don't know. But it feels like something old, something forgotten will find us today, and whatever it is, it will  _not_  end well for most people here," Silvijn paused, examining his work before cleaning the brush and changing colors. "But Camarin, keep this to yourself. We don't need deserters or hate amongst each other in the camp. There is enough for others to deal with, sans my ramblings, however they may work out."

Camarin nodded briefly before her friend flashed a deceivingly bright smile and continued painting, thinking over his words, wondering what they meant. She hoped and prayed for the first time in her life that Silvijn was wrong.

 

* * * * * * *

 

He didn't have much further to go before he arrived at the forest. It was one of the oldest still standing on this continent called 'North America'. The elf half-smirked, half-scowled at the thought of humans and their destructive ways, their insatiable greed for  _more_. They would remember why they feared the dark, why they kept to their cities; he would make sure of that. Sounds of human machinery met his ears, close to the forest, and he paused for only a moment before he took off sprinting, taking his spear in hand. He raced up a rise, and the sight before him made him catch his breath.

There were only five great, ugly yellow machines, but they were large, and designed to make the most of cutting down the larger, older trees; surrounded by a few humans with weapons. He snarled, calculating his attack and the fastest way to dispatch the humans should they refuse his merciful demands. Movement from just outside the forest caught his eye. There were other humans there, hurling rocks and shouting at the humans in the machines, judging by the shapes their mouth made.  _They cannot even keep from attacking each other, and –_  he paused in his train of thought, glancing quickly between the humans.

Those closest to the forest were in different garb, with painted faces. If he tried to listen hard enough, he could just hear the insults they threw and chants they sang at the machines and the other humans. The chants, if the elf listened carefully, had something to do with the forest, and stopping something. He stalked down the rise, bending for a second to take a thumb-sized pebble of his own as the fight between the humans escalated, and a male was talking into a radio. The elf glanced at the pebble in his hand, then at the man with the radio. He seemed in charge of those with the machines, and they stopped moving forwards, growling first before grinding to a halt, black fumes pouring out of their engines. The elf cocked his arm, aimed and threw. The pebble caught the man in the shoulder, right on mark, and he flinched, grabbing his arm and spinning around. The assault by the forest humans had stilled for a moment, although they weren't quiet until their leader raised a hand and called for silence.

The man with the machines shouted, pointing at the elf. "Hey! You! Who are you?"

The elf proudly drew himself up a little straighter. "I am Prince Nuada, Silverlance, son of King Balor, of Bethmoora. You must disperse, and leave this place. You have my mercy only once, Human."

 

* * * * * * *

 

Camarin tried to still her group when the loggers approached with their guns and an operations manager. Then she saw a tall, pale and well-built man dressed in strange, red and black clothes stalk down a rise, bending for a second to take up a pebble.  _Who is that?_  she thought, Silvijn's words from earlier this morning came back to her almost immediately.  _Is this what he was talking about?_  She glanced to her left as her friend appeared, coming further forwards as he raised a hand, calling for silence. The group went quiet and stood still almost immediately, and only a few insults were added after that. Camarin turned her attention back to the pale man, studying his appearance. He was tall, pale with white hair, and a strange golden symbol of a tree on his red belt, a black tunic and armor over black leggings and boots, armed with a short, strange version of a spear in his right hand. A couple started speaking behind her just as the man started to speak.

"Shh!" Camarin hissed, straining to catch what he said. She was thoroughly intrigued by him, but she needn't have worried about missing what he said, as his voice carried, authority and threat laced within his words.

"I am Prince Nuada, Silverlance, son of King Balor, of Bethmoora. You must disperse, and leave this place. You have my mercy only once, human."

A murmur rose in her group, and Silvijn called for quiet again. He looked very worried, despite his calm. So this  _was_  it. Camarin focused on the man this Nuada was addressing. His face scrunched up, and he scratched his chin. He glanced up at Camarin's group, and his demeanor changed.

He lifted a finger and started shaking it at them. "You think this is a joke? You bloody environmentalists think you can get one of your own to dress up like a clown and talk like something out of Lord of the Rings?"

"He's not one of ours," Silvijn called, his voice steady, calm. "I've never seen someone dressed like this before at any protest; this is a first for us as well."

The man snorted, shaking his head, turning towards Nuada. Camarin let the name resound in her head.  _Nuada, Nu-ah-da_ …. She was about to say his name out loud when she noticed he and the man were arguing, the man gesturing wildly, and then Nuada struck.

He took two long strides forwards, arcing the spear across the man's chest. Camarin watched the pale man, his reactions to blood first spurting then pouring out of the gaping slash: not a drop touched him, and he was unfazed, already moving onto the next, and the next. He killed with an ease that chilled Camarin's blood, and she felt a scream tear itself free from her throat when he spun, his spear growing in length, cutting right through another man with a gun. Nothing seemed to be able to touch him.

"GO! Run!" Silvijn shouted, gathering fellow environmentalists and herding them away, pointing in the direction to the road, moving them along. Camarin forced herself to think again, catching sight of another young woman – Sophie, she thought – running into the forest.  _No, no, no!_  Camarin thought, tearing after her. Sophie had run back to the camp, and grabbed something from her tent. Camarin slid to halt in front of her when she saw the woman was clutching pouch, and wielding a large branch.

"Hey, hey, it's ok, it's just me, Camarin," she soothed, reaching out to Sophie. They were both panting heavily, adrenaline coursing through their veins. Camarin could feel herself shake. "Come on, let's go," she said, just about to take Sophie's arm and guide her out to the road, when a logger ran past, shrieking and running further still as he fell, something silver surrounded by a red stain in his back. "Run," Camarin breathed, unable to look away from the dead man's horrified face. "Run! Deeper!" she pushed Sophie, and they bolted deeper into the forest, holding onto each other's hands. They ran until adrenaline ran out, and then they ran some more.

They ran past a hollow in the base of a sequoia, and spinning Sophie right around, Camarin pulled her in. They huddled together, trying to still their breathing.

Sophie fell asleep almost immediately, the stress of the day too much for her.

Camarin's mind was hyperactive: every noise was Nuada coming closer, every stillness was a threat.

She had no idea where they were, which direction would take them out, how deep they were.

Camarin let these thoughts come, faster and faster.

They had no food, no water. Chased by a fanatic killer with a spear.

 _A spear that grows_ , she thought.  _No, it must've been my imagination. That can't happen. Just an optical illusion,_  she reasoned, eventually feeling heavy, tired.  _Just a little while…._

 

* * * * * * *

 

Nuada sighed, wiping blood from his spear with a cloth. Mortals always made things so  _messy_. Their red blood had always been difficult to clean off his blade. He swept his gaze over the carnage, and realized that those defending the forest had escaped.  _I suppose not all humans are_ as _destructive_ , he admitted grudgingly. At the very least, they had the sense to leave. Nuada wandered deeper into the forest where they had been gathered, and came across the small camp they had made.

It was sparse, and devoid of the usual materialistic possessions humans adored so much. A few natural dyes, and very little of the things humans used to make their lives easier and destroy the earth. He meant to chase the two girls down, but had been distracted by a man who had tried to take him from behind. The fool had run when Nuada turned, and fell as quickly as his back was turned. Nuada followed the faint trails the girls had made, intent on finding them at the very least, and asking them questions they would answer if they knew what was good for them. A nagging thought in the back of his mind whispered: Would you really be able to kill these innocents? Would you really end the lives of young women who defend what you would die for?

 

* * * * * * *

 

Camarin woke with a jolt the next morning, scaring Sophie awake as well. She hadn't meant to fall asleep.

The poor girl gasped, flinching away from Camarin, but gave her a bear hug the second she recognized her fellow survivor. "It's ok, it's alright," she crooned softly, stroking Sophie's hair while trying to breathe. "Shh, it's alright, it's ok," Camarin soothed again, prying Sophie loose as she stood, and stepped out of the hollow, Sophie right behind her. She looked around, trying to find out which way was which way, and what the time was, but the forest was still dark; now only glowing with a golden light instead of a silver one. "Sophie, we have to go back the way we came."

"What?!" Sophie hissed in return, her eyes going wild. "We can't – what if – he –  _no_! You're crazy, Camarin!"

"We don't have a choice! I don't know where we are, and that's the only way out I can think of. Maybe he's gone, or the cops or the army or…  _someone_  found him and caught him or he was killed! We have  _no other choice_! We have to try!"

Sophie shivered, hugging herself. Her bottom lip quivered. "Ok, ok. I guess you're right," she finally agreed. Camarin nodded, and walked past her. They walked quickly and as quietly as they could, in the direction they thought they had come from. After a short while they found themselves running again, and stopped only briefly to rest and listen for water, or look for food. Camarin couldn't remember a time she had been as hungry as she was now, and the thirst was much worse. She only hoped they were headed in the right direction.

Sophie was the one who heard the bubbling stream, and it was all Camarin could do to drink slowly, making her companion do the same. It wouldn't help either of them if they ended up sick.

"We can follow this out," Camarin said, watching Sophie splash the water on her face, remembering the dye on her own. It wouldn't come off for a few day: it was like a henna tattoo, but different. She wasn't sure if Sophie heard what she had said, but it was a way out that was better than any other so far. The golden glow was fading quickly, and the forest was getting dark, and cold. It wouldn't make sense to move on, and they were both so glad to be near water it had become an unspoken agreement to stay. Sophie fell asleep again fairly quickly, and Camarin sat with her back against a tree, one leg stretched out in front of her as she stared into the forest, listening to the water bubbling and chuckling, and she let herself think over the man, Nuada, and what had happened.

He had spoken to them as if he had been something unaffected by time, something supernatural. His weapon was unlike anything she had even heard of before, and the ease with which he had moved, killed… it was strangely beautiful, graceful even, in a very morbid kind of way. She shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts.  _He killed those people,_  she thought.

Then a nagging little voice spoke up.  _But that's what you always wanted, isn't it? To win the 'war' about the environment? Didn't_ he  _just make it easier to win?_

 _No, he made it worse. He_ killed  _people: they shouldn't have to die! Just… change their ways._

_How? With songs and dances?_

_Shut up._  Camarin repeated the phrase out loud, letting the sound of her voice resound in her head instead.  _I'm officially going crazy…._  She sighed, leaning her head against the rough bark of the tree.

 

* * * * * * *

 

Camarin woke with a start. It was late, and very dark.  _It's too quiet,_  she suddenly realized, and quickly scooted over to Sophie. She was still asleep. Camarin breathed slowly, trying to listen through the heavy silence to what else had woken her. It felt as if the forest was mourning something, someone.

"Sophie,  _Sophie_!" she hissed, shaking her shoulder. "Wake up! Sophie!"

Camarin was greeted with a moan and a half-hearted swat. "I think he found us," she lied. Sophie shot up, her eyes wide. Camarin clapped a hand over her companion's mouth to stifle her. "Shhh, listen," Camarin commanded.

Sophie looked confused after a few moments. "Why is it so quiet?" she asked as soon as Camarin removed her hand.

Camarin shrugged. "I don't know, but I think we should get moving."

Sophie nodded, and they stood as quietly as they could, feeling exposed with every breath they took. They were even  _more_  lost, now. They followed the stream, but it quickly turned into something more like a trickle of water, and disappeared altogether into a pool.

Sophie looked like she was about to cry. Camarin just took the thinning forest as a sign they were coming to a clearing, or some sort of edge. They could almost be somewhere they could make a signal of sorts!

"Do you hear that?" Sophie suddenly interrupted.

"Hear what?"

Then Camarin heard it. It sounded like something swinging from a poacher's trap, the kind that, when activated, pulls whatever unfortunate creature stood on a pressure plate into the air by a leg. Whatever it was, was either already dead or unconscious. A sense of duty filled Camarin. "We're going to free it!"

"What?!" Sophie hissed, pulling Camarin around to face her. "Are you crazy? What if it's a trap by that crazy, freak-killer guy!"

"Then it's all the more reason to set that creature free! That man has  _no right_  to do what he did, and if it's an animal I would rather die helping it!"

Sophie went on about staying together, how suicidal Camarin's thoughts were, and other things. Camarin looked at the sky, suddenly realizing she could see the stars. "Go that way, then," she said softly, pointing to what she now realized was about south-east. "The city is that way. If I come back, I'll find you. If not, tell Silvijn he was right about what he told me on the morning of the protest." She looked back at a gaping woman. "That way, and good luck."

Sophie pursed her lips, then started jogging in the direction she had been pointed to. Camarin only hoped that what she was going to do to save this creature was the right thing to do. She listened again when the forest was quiet, the sounds of insects filling the air again.  _There,_  she thought, turning to the sound of something swinging and walking towards it. There was surely no rush, and if it  _was_  a trap as Sophie suspected, then at least one of them had a head-start.

 

* * * * * * *

 

Nuada had lost the two mortal women's trail long ago: and he had come across a frightened squirrel begging for help. It had been chattering wildly about traps, and not a single animal being able to go there for fear of these traps, but many did because of bait and other nonsense that merged into one as the creature's fear grew. Nuada had soothed it first, finding a resting place beneath a large tree and held the squirrel in his hands, gently stroking its soft orange fur.

Unfortunately for him, calming the creature had taken longer than he had anticipated, and coaxing directions to the traps was almost catastrophic. But he had sent the little animal off as soon as he knew where he was going, asking it to keep an eye out for two young mortal women. Nuada scowled when he thought of the traps humans lay out for animals, leaving them in pain for days – weeks – at a time. He dusted himself off, taking his spear from the ground and started loping to the traps. He would disable them, destroy them. Maybe, he would use them on the humans themselves….

Nuada stood at the edge of the clearing. This was it, exactly as the squirrel had described it. He couldn't see any sign of traps, so they were well-hidden by someone who knew how to hide them. He took his spear in hand, cautiously stepping into the clearing, looking at the ground, the trees for any sign of these mortal contraptions. He almost made it to the center, and still he didn't see or feel anything that might give away the traps. He sighed, frowning, turning around.

He realized what he had done the second he heard a click and his foot left a pressure plate. A thin, wiry cord fastened around his right ankle, hoisting him into the air. Nuada swore, flying up a little more and his full weight pulling sharply down on the wire, cutting into his boot. His spear lay on the ground now far beneath him. Nuada could feel blood rushing to his head. He breathed deeply a few times, then tried to pull himself up to see how to untie himself. The wire only cut deeper, and he couldn't see how it was tied. He let himself straighten slowly, feeling the wire was cutting into his boot.  _I have to get out of this,_ he reached up again, using his core muscles, over and over again until the wire had cut through his boot and was chaffing his skin. He couldn't loosen it without slicing his fingers, and he had left his spare knife in his quarters at the Troll Market. Blood had started to trickle down his leg, and Nuada couldn't raise himself again. He hung upside down, hoping his sister Nuala was close to a healer. He blacked out a short while later.

 

* * * * * * *

 

Nuada gained consciousness slowly. It was still – or again – night, and his ankle throbbed dully, his head pounding in tune to it. He felt himself shiver and shudder when he reached up to the wire around his ankle, barely able to keep himself there. Nuada felt light-headed too, now that he was the right way up again. But the wire still cut, and it opened delicate scabs that had formed. Nuada let himself fall back, regretting the decision immediately as pain flared in his ankle and he swung, spinning around one way then the other. He felt just a little sick. He had no idea how he was getting out of this one, and no animal had dared come, although he could sense them gathering on the edges, watching, mourning. The entire forest had gone silent, and the sound kept him awake, his thoughts wandering. More than ever did he lust for man's coming to heel; he was ready to do anything and everything he had to in order to stop man from destroying this already dying planet. Maybe he could still save her, his Mother Earth…. The swinging had eased a little, and his head felt heavy again, stuffed with wool.

Nuada drifted in and out of consciousness, every time he opened his eyes he saw a different part of the forest, different animals, too. Why was the sky orange and green and brown? And upside down?  _It's the forest floor…_  he realized vaguely, and his ankle throbbed dully in response.  _I hope Wink finds me sometime…._  Nuada's thoughts turned even more sluggish, and he gave in to the darkness. He could have sworn he heard voices, and a figure approaching.  _Thank the gods…._

 

* * * * * * *

 

Camarin was close to the clearing, she could hear something moan now and again, a little subconsciously, maybe. She hoped she was in time to save it…. She froze when she reached the edge of the clearing, though, and stared at the sight before her.

The pale man from two-and-a-bit days ago was caught in a poacher's trap, his right boot cut in two from the wire, and something once-wet was drying on the leather. He seemed to pass out as she got there, turning on the wire.  _Oh, god…_  she thought, her hand covering her mouth. How long had he been like this?

His spear lay useless on the ground, and Camarin doubted she could climb any tree to free him. He was just out of her reach. She glanced back at his spear.  _If I could get it to grow, maybe I could cut him down…_  she thought. Despite what he had done, no-one deserved this! To hang upside down, cut and bleeding… it wasn't right, not for anyone.  _Maybe poachers,_  she grudgingly admitted. Camarin edged closer, picking up the spear. It was short, but heavy, and she wondered how the man – Nuada, she suddenly remembered – had moved it as if it were feather-light.

She carefully examined it for any buttons or things that would make it grow, carefully keeping the sharp end away from her face and body.  _Grow already, dammit!_  she thought, holding it sideways in front of her. It suddenly started stretching, and Camarin squealed, throwing it down as she jumped backwards. It shrunk back to its original size.

She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to command her thundering heart to slow.  _Ok, ok, you can do this,_  she tried to convince herself. She picked up the spear again, watching warily as Nuada's face came around again. His face had gone from pale to a goldish color, from hanging upside down. She looked back at the spear, commanding it to grow again. Camarin struggled to keep the full length level. She looked up at where the wire encircled his ankle.  _I can probably get that…._  She raised the weapon, managing to reach and place the blade against the wire.  _Now, to cut._  Camarin started sawing it, struggling at first because Nuada kept moving, and she was having a hard time avoiding his foot; if the full spear wasn't so heavy, she would have held onto Nuada to stop his turning. She took breaks often, and each time she started again the spear felt heavier and heavier. She almost sniggered in frustration at how funny it would be if she cut off his foot. Camarin was about ready to cry.

The wire was almost cut through, but she couldn't hold the spear up any more. Her arms were shaking. Just then, the man seemed to gain consciousness again. She pointed at his foot when he slowly turned around again. He looked confused for a moment, and Camarin suddenly re-remembered she still had face paint on.

"You're almost free," she said slowly. The man blinked, then suddenly recognition lit up his face. He managed to raise himself jerkily with his core muscles, locking an arm behind his right leg as he examined her work.

"Bring my spear closer," he said, his voice soft, compelling, and a little husky from not speaking for a while, but very masculine. She came closer, putting the blade by the wire. Nuada took it just behind the head and cut the last bit, falling ungracefully to the ground. He tried to sit up, scrunching his eyes and clutched his head as his face twisted in pain.

 

* * * * * * *

 

Blood was rushing out of his head as quickly as it had gone in, and it made him dizzy. It hurt in ways he couldn't describe. Nuada couldn't think straight; he was just grateful he was on the ground again. His ankle still hurt, and he was about to say something to the woman with war paint on her face when something hard hit the back of his head, and he lost consciousness. Again.

 

* * * * * * *

 

Camarin stared at the man who surely had a concussion now. "Why did you do that, Camarin?" she asked herself, though she already knew the answer. She didn't trust him awake, and she needed to see what had happened with his ankle, and get the wire off. She put the spear down next to a tree, then tried to drag Nuada closer to it. He was just too heavy. "Goddamn you men!" she hissed, grunting from the effort. She finally moved him from the spot, but only got him about halfway to the tree. It was close enough. She was physically exhausted.

Camarin moved his arms and legs into more natural positions, and found herself drawn to his face. His hair covered his features, from being knocked out and Camarin's failed attempt at moving him. She knelt by his shoulders, and hesitated. She wasn't really sure if she  _should_ touch him. But she would have to, anyway. Camarin slowly reached for his brow, gently brushing away his white hair. His pale skin was smooth to the touch, slightly warm from his sudden release and a possible fever from an injury.  _I need to check his ankle,_  she thought vaguely. The only thing that marred the smoothness of his complexion were a collection of markings across his face, from spirals at his temples to a long line across his face, running under his eyes and over his sharp nose, intersected a few times by perpendicular marks.

Camarin wondered if it was a scar.

Nuada's forehead and cheeks also had similar marks on them. Camarin continued to brush away his hair, seeing his pointed ears, high cheekbones and strong jawline. She didn't think his ears were artificial. His eyes and lips were dark, almost black. Camarin almost wanted to touch his lips. She shook her head furiously.

"Dammit! You're developing that syndrome, condition thing where victims fall for their captors…" she breathed to herself, trying to remember what it was called.  _Except I'm not_ his  _victim._  She shook her head again, briefly wondering what he looked like beneath the tunic and armor, but forced herself to focus on his boot. His right boot which was cut in two. She stood, fetching the spear and bringing it closer, setting it out of Nuada's reach next to her thigh as she carefully undid buckled on the calf part of the black boot, taking it off. Camarin almost missed the wire, considering how deeply it had cut into the man's leg.

She carefully pried the foot part of the man's boot off, wishing for light to see better. She supposed it would be dawn soon, which meant it would first get darker. She ran a hand over her still-tied hair, wondering how she was going to get the wire off. It had cut deep, but she doubted it had gotten anything vital. Camarin wished Silvijn was here, he would know what to do.  _And a first aid kit, the most important._  She scooted closer, carefully lifting Nuada's foot to see better. She could see the slip-knot, but she wasn't sure how she would untie it. She couldn't cut it, the spear was too clumsy for that. Camarin also couldn't slide it out, it was too deep, finely stuck to scabs that were forming, and she had no idea what blood-borne diseases he might have. She also didn't want to make it worse, but either way she looked at it, Nuada would probably end up for the worse. At least for a short while. Camarin let his name roll over her tongue. She blushed despite herself. She had forgotten how beautiful he had been.  _Focus…._

 

* * * * * * *

 

There was a weight on Nuada's right shin, pinning it to the ground. The pain in his head was worse than where it was supposed to be… which was where, again? A woman's voice murmured softly, and he couldn't quite make out what she was saying yet. Nuada willed himself to speak, or make a sound, but he couldn't. It was just too much effort

So was moving.

He gasped and flinched when a sharp pain appeared in his ankle. The weight disappeared off his shin, and something pulled free. Nuada was awake now. He pulled his ankle to him, gently holding it. He wasn't wearing his boot. He glanced around, looking for it and saw the two pieces discarded on one side. He was bleeding again.

"Don't move," the woman said, and he recognized her as the woman with the war paint who had freed him earlier, and had been one of the two he had been tracking, he was sure. Nuada lifted his face to glare at her. She was using his own weapon against him.

"Give it to me," he said, holding out his right hand for his spear. The mortal's eyes flitted to his hand, and a look of wonder crossed her face. Dawn was almost turning to day, and she could see his blood was golden from where he had touched his injury. He shifted his weight, standing unsurely. He wouldn't be able to put any weight on his right side. "Give it to me, Mortal, and go: I do not need your help and I'm sure you can see there is nothing I can really do to harm you," he almost stood squarely.

The girl held his weapon higher, steadying it with both hands, shaking her head. She seemed to battle awe and anger. "Why did you do that? Why did you kill them? Who do you think you are to just kill random people?!" Her voice rose with each word, each question. She was determined, and stubborn, Nuada would give her that.  _Maybe a little stupid, too, considering, that she'd help the man who killed her people._

"Your kind are destroying the earth. You and your people are trying to  _stop_  that. Is it not what you wanted? To  _stop_  Mother Earth from being destroyed?"

The girl was shaking her head furiously. "Not like this! Not–" she stopped, something suddenly registering in her mind. "Wait, why are you saying 'your kind'?"

Nuada half-sneered. "Can you not see I am not one of you? Or have mortals become so blind to the world they once knew and feared?"

She was shaking her head again, clearly in denial. "I don't believe you…" she breathed, not taking her eyes off him. Nuada was uncomfortable standing, and he felt light-headed again. He shifted uneasily, hating the misfortune that had befallen him.

"Which way did you come from?" he asked, changing the subject. It usually distracted mortals, and the technique had usually worked on directing confused and frightened mortals into saying something he needed, when he had no choice but to deal with them.

"What?" she exclaimed, her expression changing from a wondrous fear to confusion. "Why does that matter?"

She was one of the smarter ones. Nuada sighed. "Listen to me, Mortal –"

"My name is Camarin," she said. Nuada looked up at her again. "Don't call me mortal and explain properly  _who_  you are, and  _what_  you  _think_  you are."

"You should not command me, Mor–"

" _Camarin!_  My name is  _Camarin!_ " she insisted, stamping her foot, her arms shaking from the effort of holding up his spear.

"Fine.  _Camarin_. Do not command me," Nuada replied, exasperated, carefully taking a half-step closer, pursing his lips against the pain. Camarin's eyes flitted to his foot, and another emotion crept into her eyes. He scowled.

"Do not  _sympathize_  with me. Give me my weapon, and go."

"You can barely walk!" she argued, her arms lowering the spear as she took a few long steps backwards. "I'm lost, and, I, and –" her lip quivered. She was going to cry. Nuada sighed softly, feeling himself soften towards this mortal girl as she furiously turned her side to him and wiped away the tears that hadn't yet come. He shifted again. The girl was almost right: he couldn't even stand, let alone walk. Nuada needed her help after all.

"If I can lead you out of this forest…" he started, pride stopping him from finishing his sentence. Camarin looked at him, hope shining in her eyes despite the wary expression on her face. "I cannot walk," he admitted, "and I give you my word I will not harm you so long as you are in my company."

"Why should I believe you? After you killed all those innocent people?"

Nuada recoiled, drawing himself taller. Had she really just insulted his honor, his word? He tried to find the right words, but nothing came out. Camarin just watched him. She sighed, and faced him again. She nodded.

"Fine. But you also have to explain all of…" she motioned at him, and waved his spear. " _This_."

He was about to protest, and tell her he didn't need to explain anything to her when Nuada realized he really didn't have much of a choice if he wanted to leave the forest soon.  _I can always tell her half-truths_ , was the thought he finally consoled himself with, and nodded.

"And I keep the spear with me. I still don't trust you," she finished, squaring her shoulders and lifting her chin. Nuada rolled his eyes. He nodded.

Camarin watched him hobble over to snatch up what was left of his boot before she cautiously came to Nuada's right side, slipping her arm around his waist as he draped his arm over her shoulders.

"How long have you been up there?" she asked, turning them towards the stream. It would be a long walk, but it was probably the most sensible place to be.

"I don't know. Where are you going?" Nuada spoke impatiently; Camarin resisted the urge to cluck her tongue and roll her eyes. She hoped she was still headed in the right direction….

"My friend and I found a stream further up this way, I think, and that's where we're going."

"You  _think_  you found a stream?" Nuada sounded mockingly incredulous. Camarin had a feeling he was trying to demean her.

" _No_ , I  _think_  we're headed in the right direction. There  _is_  actually a stream."

She felt him snort more than she heard it. "You should turn a little more left, then."

Camarin stopped, Nuada leaning heavily on her to keep his weight off his foot from her sudden stop. "How do you know?"

"I can hear where the stream runs into a pool."

Camarin stared up at the man, whole head-and-shoulders taller than her. "That's impossible.  _Should_  be impossible," she corrected. She had both seen and made his weapon grow, and he  _did_  have golden blood. Camarin stayed still, thinking, while Nuada's face became unreadable as he waited for her to finish.

"Can you walk and think at the same time?"

Camarin huffed at Nuada, pulling him along as she walked just a little faster than he could. She almost snickered when he had to resort to hopping to keep up. But she slowed down a little anyway, and they made it to the stream without incident. He almost brushed her aside when she tried to help him sit.  _He doesn't like being dependent on someone else_ , she thought, planting herself a little way away, the spear in her lap.

"So, what exactly are you? I've never seen anyone look like you before, and your blood is a different color to ours," Camarin started, unsure of whether or not Nuada would answer. He was quiet for a while, tearing his belt into long strips and soaked one in the pool, gingerly cleaning his wound.

"I am an elf. Specifically an elf  _prince_ ," he eventually said, focusing a little too intently on what he was doing. Camarin nodded sarcastically to herself, mimicking what he had just said. "Did you say something?" Nuada asked, and her head swiveled round, staring at him wide-eyed.

"No," she lied quickly. He couldn't possibly have heard her: she had barely even  _breathed_  the words out loud! Nuada narrowed his eyes, 'hmm-ed' and went back to fiddling with tying a makeshift bandage around his ankle, carefully pulling the lower half of his boot on.

"So, Camarin," he started, speaking her name unsurely, as if he wasn't sure how to say it.

"Yes?"

"Where is your companion?"

Camarin stared blankly at him. "My companion?"

Nuada sighed impatiently through his nose. "The other girl who was with you," he pressed at her confused expression.

"Oh!" Camarin exclaimed. "Sophie? She left when I went to free you. The stars were out and we were in a clearing and I told her which way to go," she felt her cheeks and ears warm a little.

"Hm," was all he would say in reply, his brows knitting together for some reason. Camarin was just getting used to the sudden silence when Nuada pursued his apparent train of thought. "Your kind seek the destruction of this earth, and yet you and a few others try to stop it. Why? What is so different about  _you_  that you see what is happening and you take action? But, why do it peacefully when all others act in violence?"

Camarin blinked, looking at Nuada. He seemed genuinely curious, and confused at the same time. "You're rather biased against humans, aren't you?" she paused, gathering her thoughts and staring into the pool. Nuada shifted as if he was going to chide Camarin for not answering just as she started speaking. "This is the only planet we have, and it's precious, fragile some would say, but there's only one of it, and if it dies we all die. My group, and others – we're generally called 'environmentalists'–" she said unsurely, not knowing if he knew the same terms she did, "–are trying to bring awareness to the fact that we're running out of resources, and the ones we use so often are destroying what we have. Everything needs something in order to survive – the honey badger needs honey, and bees need flowers, flowers need fertile soil and fertile soil could come from the honey badger, to be basic. If one of these are weakened, the whole system falls apart. And it spreads further than that, because it affects everyone–"

"You're repeating," Nuada interjected quietly, though not patiently.

Camarin sighed, looking at the elf again, noticing something in his hands. "What's that?"

"A waterskin. For holding water. Continue."

Camarin was about to protest his rudeness when she decided against it. She didn't want to argue. "I've gotten used to repeating because it's the only way most people will listen. I want to make sure that there  _is_  still an Earth in the years to come, one that is still alive. You asked also why we do it peacefully: we can't start a war with the world: we would not only lose because we are outnumbered, but we would further damage it. And besides, a war costs innocent lives, the lives of children and women, and even men who shouldn't have to fight for anything."

"The world isn't an equal place, Camarin." Nuada paused. "Nor is it fair," he added as an afterthought.

"It could be! If we could put aside greed and hate and try for once to be nice to each other it could work!" she insisted. She looked at the elf, as he stared into the pool and nodded to himself. He filled his waterskin, stopping it and tucking it into his belt.

"We should go," he said, making to stand. Camarin quickly came to his side when he stumbled, ignoring his deep scowl, pulling him up. She was sure he huffed something, but she wasn't sure, so she let it slide.

"The city is that way," Nuada said, pointing, and they set off. She hoped that one waterskin would last until the next pool or stream. Assuming there  _was_  another one. And that he would have the good graces to share it with her.

 

* * * * * * *

 

This girl – Camarin – had stirred and shifted Nuada's beliefs about Man. Not enough to make him change his mind, but just enough to plant a seed of doubt. Perhaps they could be changed, or at least a few spared to remember…. No; between those who would survive would come those who dreamed of conquest again, and man's desire for it would cost Nuada and his people their world for a second time. He wasn't sure he could allow that.

As it was, he felt weak to be so dependent on her, a mere mortal girl, and it wasn't a feeling he enjoyed in the slightest, and he would be with her for at least another two or three weeks. Nuada forced his thoughts back to the present. Camarin was warming up to him, asking him seemingly endless questions about elves, goblins and Bethmoora, and magic; she had even surprised him with her fairly comprehensive knowledge of his people – mostly inaccurate, but she knew more than most. He told her little bits and pieces, but her curiosity was insatiable. She seemed able to tell when he wasn't giving her every little detail, and she asked fairly accurate questions, as well, learning quickly how to corner him with words.

He would never admit it to anyone, but he found it refreshing to deal with an intelligent mortal. They hadn't made much progress through the day, and although he couldn't hear the stream he knew they weren't far from it, and the city was even further. Nuada wondered how this girl could have so much  _hope_  for a people which had given up on itself. She seemed able to sense when he had answered enough, and lapsed into a silence he thought only elves and other magical creatures could keep. He found himself drawn to her despite himself as the week went by, as if they shared something in this broken world. Nuada was getting frustrated by a journey that was meant to take less than a week, perhaps two, which was now dragging out to over three.

Once, a search party was sent deeper into the forest than before, and Nuada had mentioned it to Camarin, expecting her to leave. She had surprised him when she said, "If I leave you, how will  _you_  get out?"

And so she had stayed. Nuada had been slightly touched by her compassion, and he was moving by himself a little more, eventually even asking her about her plans for the world when she had run out of questions to ask. She answered freely, so much so that Nuada felt a little guilty just once that he had withheld so much from her. But it was a fleeting emotion, really. When he asked her about her faded, pale hues of purple, green and white war paint, she had blushed and explained it was more of a dye, and would stay for a while longer, no matter how she would scrub it off. Nuada suddenly remembered the dyes he had found at her camp. He couldn't help but think of the war paints his people had used so long ago.

 

* * * * * * *

 

They were perhaps three days from the forest's edge, and more importantly, a road, and Nuada found himself finding ways to stall for time. He didn't yet  _want_  to part with this mortal girl. She had found a way past his prejudices and walls to find a place deep within his memory, at the very least. He watched her as she busied herself with clearing a space to sleep, and Nuada let his gaze travel over her features.

She had ash-brown hair which hung just past her shoulders, with gentle waves near the ends. She had a finely feminine build, yet not as delicate as that of the elves. Her face was oval shaped, with fine and defined features, and hazel-shaped, green-flecked brown eyes. He wondered why on earth such a beautiful and feminine woman would do what she did. Nuada backtracked – had he really thought of her as beautiful? A mortal, who was beautiful…. He let the idea float in his mind for a while

 By afternoon the day after tomorrow, they would be on a rise, exposed and with a clear view of the road and city, as well as a path down. Here they would part ways; Nuada wasn't going into any mortal place with her at his side – he would put her in danger, he told himself. He admitted he cared for her, in some way at least, though he couldn't say he knew her well enough to be her friend, but in her he felt a kindred spirit. Nuada wondered briefly if she felt the same way.

 

* * * * * * *

 

Camarin had enjoyed quizzing the elf about everything he knew – and she knew he was holding back a lot more than he could, in her opinion. She had hoped to earn some of his trust with her openness, but it was all in vain. Then again, she supposed he had his reasons. Like this war he kept hinting at. He was difficult to read, often silent and curt when he spoke; and he rarely showed emotion if it didn't benefit him – that's what Camarin found so far, anyway. She couldn't recognize if he had any 'tells', even in the close quarters they were currently in

 She sighed as she sat down on her earthen bed, watching Nuada fiddle with twigs. Something was bothering him, and she only knew it because he was letting her see it. Camarin found herself hoping their journey would last a little longer despite her initial misgivings – he was actually interesting company to keep past his difficulties.

"What's up?" she asked, Nuada's attention snapping to her face. Her still-dyed face. Camarin felt a light blush creep over her cheeks. She hoped he wouldn't mention it again.

"I do not understand," he replied slowly, narrowing his eyes at her.

Camarin sighed and shifted to a more comfortable position. "I'm asking what's on your mind, and what's bothering you. Though, technically 'what's up' can mean 'how are you' as well."

Nuada frowned, then dipped his head. "We are close to a road which will take you to your city."

Camarin blinked.  _So soon already?_  she wondered, but didn't ask. She had been hoping for a short while longer with him. "What are you going to do once we reach the road?"

"I will go my own way before then, Camarin. I will not go all the way to the road with you," Nuada refused to look at her.

"Oh," she nodded slowly. "So, you'll continue with whatever you had planned, then?"

"You can ask me more questions in the morning," the elf said abruptly, lying on his back and stretching out on the ground, his fingers laced together over his stomach. He closed his golden eyes, but Camarin doubted he was really asleep. He was dodging questions again.

"Fine," she grumbled. "Be like that."

She lay down, turning onto her side to watch Nuada, deepening her breathing. She hoped she would see him again after his apparent vendetta with mankind – hopefully on better terms – and hopefully he would change his mind about the war he wanted to start. Camarin had a feeling she  _should_  turn him in, but she knew she wouldn't.

A small part of her wanted him to win, while another part just really didn't want him in chains, doomed to experiments the government would cover up with bad lies. Assuming they let him live, of course. Camarin watched him breathe, finding herself drifting off.

"I knew you were still awake," she murmured when he turned his head to look at her as she fell asleep.

 

* * * * * * *

 

They were almost at the road by late afternoon. Nuada could walk on his own fairly well, but it seemed neither wanted to part. Camarin knew she didn't want to. Nuada was the first to break the silence.

"Good luck, Mortal," he said, a faint glimmer of a beautiful smile on his dark lips.

Camarin snorted. "Yeah, yeah. You too, I guess. But, just promise me something."

"Why? I do not owe you anything," Nuada said, looking at her suspiciously.

"Bite me. Think about what you're going to do,  _really_  think about it and decide if that really is the  _only_  way to go. If it is, Nuada, then do it. If it isn't, there are many other ways to get the same results with less drastic actions. I'd really like to be alive at the end of a supernatural war, you know. With my friends and family all still alive as well."

He narrowed his eyes at Camarin. "It is not for you to decide what I will do and how I will do it, Camarin. But very well, I will take it into consideration; after all, I must strategize the best way to establish my people's place in this world again."

Camarin stamped a foot, 'humph'-ing. "Dammit, you're impossible!"

"Promise me one thing in return," Nuada commanded, his smile growing a little at her frustration. Camarin raised her brows. He was  _commanding_  her? It wouldn't end well. She was keeping this spear at the rate things were going. "If I come looking for you, will you meet with me, when all of it is over?"

Camarin pursed her lips. He would be bent on fighting this war. And she knew what her answer would be, regardless of his choice. "Yes. Just don't take too long, I don't like to be kept waiting."

Nuada smiled at her for the first time. Really smiled. She was a little awestruck.

"Smile at your enemies, Nuada," she blurted. "You'll win that way," she explained when he looked confused and his smile faltered. Camarin grinned back, holding out his spear.

"I will find you when it is over, Camarin. I swear to you I will." He looked over his shoulder to where he heard a car. "The road is that way, a short walk. I believe a car is heading for the forest, but the sound of it."

Nuada looked her over for the last time, then turned and walked away.  _Well, he'll be out of action for a good while still,_  she mused, a soft smile on her lips as headed for the road.

 _I hope we meet again_.


End file.
